Bruised Heart
by Mayle
Summary: John Watson conveniently happens across Sherlock as he's having a heart attack. John manages to save Sherlock. Having not died, Sherlock now feels that there is something left for him and sets out on a quest to find it.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock clutched his left arm and winced in pain. His arm had been aching all day for some unknown reason and now it began to throb even worse. The pain seemed to seep into his chest as well. He slowed to a stop and leaned against the lockers. He suddenly felt as though the air was taken from him. He gasped and his vision blurred slightly. A blonde boy suddenly popped in front of him

"Hey! Hi! Come with me!" the boy exclaimed, tugging on Sherlock's arm gently.

Sherlock squinted at him, trying to focus on the boy's face.

"Who are….who are…you?" Sherlock asked breathlessly.

"John, now come with me! Quickly!" the boy said, tugging a bit more urgently.

Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled along. The boy had a hold of his hand now and was pulling him toward some unknown location. A few moments of hastened walking later, the boy-_John_ burst through the nurse's office door and pulled Sherlock towards the bed.

"Call an ambulance!" John shouted at the nurse, "He's having a heart attack!"

Sherlock blanched. I_'m going to die, _Sherlock thought calmly. John pushed him down on the bed and straightened his legs out flat. Sherlock gasped hard and clutched at his chest as a sharp pain stabbed through him. John's head appeared above him. He blinked rapidly, trying to rid himself of the tears that were forming. He really didn't want to die crying his eyes out.

"Hey, you," John said soothingly, "It's going to be ok. What's your name?"

"Shhh…errrr…." Sherlock paused to take a gasping breath, "Lockkkk."

"Sherlock, huh?" John said, "That's a nice name."

John brushed some of Sherlock's sweat curls out of his face.

"Focus on me Sherlock," John said, "Tell me, do you have any siblings?"

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed in an effort to remember if he did or not.

"Broth…er…" Sherlock muttered.

"Older?" John pressed.

Sherlock nodded jerkily.

"Breathe, Sherlock," John instructed gently, "In through the nose. That's good. Out through the mouth. Good. Relax. You're gonna be ok. So do you have a girlfriend?"

Sherlock shook his head, trying to focus on John's words and not the pain in his chest.

"Not my thing," he said through clenched teeth.

"Oh. _Oh," _John said, the realization hitting him, "Boyfriend then?"

Sherlock squinted at John, trying to keep his breathing normal.

"Sch-sch….schoooll…" Sherlock mumbled.

"Ah, focusing on school," John said, his hand finding Sherlock's forehead, "Smart choice, Sherlock, but makes for a lonely life. Hey, focus on me. Sherlock! Focus on me!"

Sherlock's eyes were unfocused and his eyelids fluttered. John patted his face.

"Sherlock! None of that! Look at me!" John shouted.

Sherlock focused on John's face for a second before pain sliced through his chest again. He screeched and his eyes squeezed closed. Then it was black. All black and cold and he couldn't hear anything.

* * *

Sherlock sat bolt upright and gasped hard. He fell backwards and curled onto his side. He groaned loudly. Damn it hurt. He pressed his fingers to his temple and squeezed his eyes closed in an effort to keep the raging headache from breaking through. He groaned loudly and felt like throwing up.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" Mycroft's cool voice drifted over him.

Sherlock opened his eyes a bit and looked about for his brother, who was sitting on the chair beside his bed.

"I'm fine," Sherlock answered in raspy voice.

"Do you remember what happened?" Mycroft questioned.

"John saved me," Sherlock stated, "Didn't he?"

"Indeed he did," Mycroft confirmed, "He managed to get your heart to restart before the paramedics arrived."

"My heart stopped?" Sherlock wondered out loud.

"Yes, John said it was for a whole minute," Mycroft replied.

"Where…where is he?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

"At school I would imagine," Mycroft answered, "It is school time."

"Oh," was all Sherlock could manage.

His chest still ached lightly and he felt weak. He wondered how long he would be able to lay here without doing anything. Probably quite a while, considering he'd had a heart attack.

"You do know why you had a heart attack, don't you?" Mycroft asked in what most people would think was a gentle tone.

But Sherlock knew that was his "pressure" voice. The voice he used to apply pressure when he wanted something.

"The smoking," Sherlock said dryly.

"Don't act stupid, Sherlock," Mycroft snapped.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, though it made his head hurt.

"What does it matter anyway?" Sherlock demanded in a hoarse voice.

"It matters because you need to quit before you die!" Mycroft said in a barely controlled voice.

Sherlock didn't answer and merely rolled over to face away from his brother. Of course he knew why he'd had the heart attack. Only an idiot would not know that it was the drugs.

He was released some days later. He didn't know how many days and he really didn't care. His thoughts were mostly occupied by withdrawals and a certain blonde who had heroic tendencies. He'd asked Mycroft for the boy's last name, but Mycroft said he didn't know. He found that infuriating. How could a person know everything he was doing every minute of the day, but didn't know the last name of the boy who saved his life? Stupid git.

When he went back to school, he searched for the boy. He'd managed to convince the secretary to give him a list of all the Johns in the school. It was nice to have the list, except that there was an annoyingly large amount of Johns and he was distracted by an itchy feeling all over his skin. He looked at the list and read the first name.

"John Adams," he read quietly to himself, "Homeroom 208."

He tried to remember what grade homeroom 208 was, but couldn't. He'd probably deleted the information, thinking it was useless to him. Not that it mattered since he didn't know what grade John was in anyway. He let out a frustrated noise and scratched at his arm. _Maybe I ought to go find Jim before I find John_, he considered briefly. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the constant buzzing and the thoughts of getting drugs. He had to quit…he wasn't quite sure why yet, but he couldn't die yet. There was still something that needed him. Or maybe it was someone?

* * *

**Little note: Shouldn't have posted this...Oh well! Just because I have a million stories floating around doesn't mean I can't handle it! :P**


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock scanned the room quickly. John wasn't there. He squinted and scanned the room again, double checking. Still no John. He sighed heavily and looked back to his list. He quickly crossed off the two Johns that were in the room. He was now down to John Sanders in room 138. He was beginning to wonder if the John that had saved his life even existed.

He hurried out of the room and towards room 138. A wave of nausea washed over him and he turned off his course to a bathroom. He burst through it and rushed into a stall, barely getting to lock it before he was retching. He fell to his knees in front of the toilet, but nothing actually came up. He just retched until his strength ran out and he slumped to the side. Icy coldness gripped him and he shivered uncontrollably.

He took gasping breaths and reminded himself he had to find John. Once he'd calmed to a certain degree, he picked himself up and wobbly made his way out of the bathroom. He started again on the path to room 138. He clutched the list of Johns tightly in his hand. He'd surprisingly managed to keep a hold of it while he was not throwing up in the bathroom.

_Once I find my John_, he decided, _I'm going to kill off all the other Johns so I never have to search this hard for him again. _He shook his buzzing head; no that wasn't right. John wasn't _his _John, just _a _John. The John. The Johnliest John there had ever been. No other John could ever compare to how Johnly John was. However, his name was infuriatingly low on the alphabetical list of Johns. _But that makes him even better, _Sherlock reasoned, _that makes him even more Johnly than all the other Johns._

His jumbled thoughts were interrupted as someone passed with too much perfume on, causing him to start hacking into his hand. His senses seemed to be heightened, yet dulled at the same time. Everything crowded stiflingly close, yet coldly isolated him. The spectrum of disgusting _emotions _left Sherlock feeling nauseous again.

"What are you doing?" a too loud voice demanded of him.

He looked around dazedly, realizing he was in room 138. He squinted, trying to focus, but John was there. He swayed where he stood as he double-checked. He stumbled backwards and out of the room. He brought the list close to his face. It was marked all over with angry red lines where he'd taken a red pen and crossed out all the wrong Johns. There were three names left. They were all called John.

_Wait, _Sherlock stopped in the middle of the hallway, clutching at his aching head; _of course they're all Johns. This is a list of Johns._ He rubbed at his temple. He was pretty sure he was losing it. He frowned and looked to the list again. The first of the three left was John Watson, room 221. That was Sherlock's home room, so he was pretty sure that wasn't the right John. The other two were John Yakoff and John Ziggerman.

"Who makes these last names?" he wondered out loud, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

He almost hoped that John really didn't exist, rather than he did with one of those two names. His lips curled in disgust and he started towards John Yakoff's homeroom. Room 458.

* * *

Sherlock stared confusedly at John. He'd finally found him, but it had been more of an accident than anything else. He'd gone to the remaining two rooms and found that John wasn't there. At first he was rather confused and frustrated. Then he managed to remind himself that it was possible that John wasn't there that day. Maybe he was sick or something.

But he wasn't. He was sitting in the normally empty seat in front of Sherlock's.

"Wh-what are y-you doing here?" Sherlock questioned in a slur.

John looked up at him in confusion. Sherlock wobbled slightly and leaned down, placing his hands on John's desk to steady himself. He leaned close to John's face, trying to focus on it. He lifted one hand and poked John's cheek. It reddened under the touch

"Are you a hallucination?" Sherlock whispered.

John shook his head.

"No, why would you think that?" John seemed to wonder out loud, "Anyway, how are you? Are you ok? Are you going through withdrawals? Because that's what it looks like. Have you eaten something today? It will help for you to eat something light. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Sherlock imagined his stare was rather intense. He was trying to figure out in the fuck John had gotten in this seat. Two and two wasn't coming together to make four in his head. They were coming together to make a headache and Sherlock had no idea what was going on. John's hand touched his arm and he growled, throwing a glare at the other boy. John shrank back slightly, but his hand stayed on Sherlock's arm. It was hot, too hot and it burned him. He wanted to pry the grip off of him and cast it from himself, but he couldn't bring himself to lose his contact with reality and his contact with John.

"Wh…when did y….you get he…he…here?" Sherlock asked breathlessly, watching as John's hand started melting his arm.

"The day I saw you was my first day, actually," John answered, "Are you ok?"

"No…I nee….i nee…I nee…" Sherlock's voice drifted off as his knees weakened and he fell to the floor.

His eyelids were fluttering and his heart was beating in a weird way. This was a bit not good considering he'd had a heart attack not too long ago. He shivered as he remembered it. He instinctively leaned towards John. He saw a perfect place to lay his head and did so. John jumped violently as he nestled his head in the slight dip of John's waist. John had been calling to him the entire time, but he hadn't really heard it. It was more like he'd felt the vibrations of John's voice on his skin, but decided to ignore it.

"I Th…ink…I'll…kee…p…y…ou," Sherlock mumbled out, as his eyes drooped closed.

He felt heaviness all around him as he fell down into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

"Johnnnn," Sherlock groaned as soon as he gained consciousness.

"Right here," John's voice answered.

Sherlock's eyes flew open in surprise. The too bright lights burned into his eyes briefly before he slammed his eyes closed again, screeching in pain. He groped around blindly, not sure what exactly he was reaching for until his hand landed on it. He grabbed John's arm tighter and yanked it towards him. A hand slammed down on his other side and suddenly there was breath hot on his face.

"What's wrong Sherlock?" John asked breathlessly.

"Are you real?" Sherlock questioned in a whisper.

"Yes, of course I am," John answered in a confused voice.

"You saved me," Sherlock said, his grip tightening even more.

Unexpectedly he was very desperate to convey some sort of sentiment, but he didn't know how. He struggled for several moments, gripping John's arm and attempting to pry his eyes open. He felt as though something cold inside him had become intensely hot. His insides burned, but his skin froze, effectively sewing his eyes and mouth shut. Then a warm hand touched his icy face. The muscles relaxed around the hand, calmness radiating from it.

"It's ok, love," John whispered, "I think you're a little panicked from the withdrawals. Take a few deep breaths."

Sherlock took some gasping breaths.

"Slow down there," John said soothingly, "Even your breath a little. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just focus on my voice, Sherlock."

Sherlock's breath evened of its own accord, as though his lungs just wanted to obey John.

"There you are," John said in a sweet voice, "You're ok. Why don't you try opening your eyes now? Just keep calm and be slow. I imagine those lights are a bit harsh for you."

Sherlock's eyes slid slowly open, also obeying John's commands. John smiled down at him.

"Good job, now I can see those beautiful eyes," John whispered in a reassuring voice, "Can you loosen your grip on my arm a bit now, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's hand muscles relaxed before his brain could process the instruction. His eyes remained locked with John's as his hand relaxed completely and slid down John's arm. He left his hand resting around John's wrist, unwilling to break contact.

"Thank you," John said, smiling sweetly, "Are you alright now?"

"Yes," Sherlock whispered, "Because I have you."

John blushed a pretty shade of pink and looked away sheepishly. He licked his lips unconsciously and looked back to Sherlock, still smiling that sweet, sweet smile. Sherlock found his own lips turning up at the sight.

"I just want to help you, Sherlock," he replied, honesty ringing in his voice.

Sherlock's eyes brimmed with tears as he realized something wholesomely pathetic about himself:

"And I need your help," Sherlock said, his voice cracking from the awful, horrible, disgusting emotion that rose up inside of him.

"Well, then I'd say we're all set," John said, his smile turning into a grin.

Sherlock grinned back, his face muscles unconsciously mirroring John's.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," John said, "Would you like to go get something to eat now?"

Sherlock felt himself pale and his grin disappeared without a trace. A nasty rolling started up in his stomach at the thought of moving from this very perfect spot he was in. he frowned and swallowed, trying to push the sick feeling down. He tensed up, his grip tightening around John's wrist.

"It's ok, Sherlock," John whispered reassuringly.

Sherlock looked back up at John and realized that the other boy's hand was still on his face. He felt himself lean into it slightly.

"I'll just go get you something to eat and be back, ok?" John offered, "Then you won't have to move at all."

He pulled away from Sherlock before Sherlock could protest. Sherlock suddenly felt an awful rawness rip through him as John smiled at him reassuringly and slipped behind the curtain that shut Sherlock off from the world. Sherlock couldn't move or speak as the rawness cut through him, scratching at every bit of exposed skin. He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head frantically as the heat and pain seeped into him. It reminded him of the time he got hit with a hot poker, only this was a hundred times worse.

"Sherrrloock!" a whispery, dream-like voice called to him beautifully.

His eyes fluttered open and he saw John above him once again. He blinked in confusion as he realized John was sitting on him. He started to sit up, but John's hands pressed him back down to the bed. The small hands were cool and soothing as they rubbed across his arms and chest. He squinted at John, realizing that the boy was wearing nothing but an oversized shirt that slipped past his shoulders. His eyes traveled of their own accord, drinking in the sight of John's nearly naked body.

"Do you like what you see?" John said in a light, teasing voice.

Sherlock's eyes skimmed back over John's body as he considered the question. The heat and pain that had filled him moments before was long gone and all he could feel was the light weight of John, the slightly heightened drumming of his heart, and a tightness in his pants. He wasn't fooling anyone, least of all John who was sitting with his thigh resting lightly on Sherlock's arousal. He nodded jerkily, not quite trusting his mouth to adequately form the correct syllable.

"Good," John said, his voice dipping low as he leaned down to Sherlock, "Because that bulge near your pocket is far too large to be a roll of pence."

Sherlock felt himself swallow thickly as John's lips barely touched to his. His mind blanked as John leaned just a bit further, properly pressing their lips together. Sherlock's hands moved without him commanding them to. They landed lightly on the dips of John's waist, settling there as though they belonged. John opened his mouth against Sherlock's and Sherlock responded in kind.

"Are you ok, Sherlock?" John called to him, "You look a bit funny. Can you hear me? Sherlock?"

Sherlock blinked, trying to restart his blanked out mind. He looked dazedly from the John on his lap to the John standing by his bed, leaning in with a look of concern. Sherlock's pants suddenly became achingly tight as images flashed through his head of two Johns.

"God loves me," Sherlock mumbled in a slur.

"What?" John asked (the one standing).

The one on Sherlock's lap giggled.

"You're silly, Sherlock," he said brightly, "I'm not real."

"What?" it was Sherlock's turn to be confused.

John on his lap shook his head and grinned. Then he began to fade, like water as it's sprayed from a bottle. Sherlock's hands fell as John disappeared and groped the air, desperately trying to keep ahold of the other boy. The other John moved forward and placed a hand on one of his that was still hovering in the air.

"Are you ok?" John asked, concern filling the three simple words.

Sherlock felt coldness travel through him like a wave of arctic water. He dropped his hands and looked away from John, hating the thoughts and feelings filling him. He just wished it would all go away. He was tired of this, all of this disgusting normalcy that he usually didn't have to bother with. Attraction, caring, fear, connection. He didn't feel these things; he didn't feel anything. Well, he hadn't. Now he did. And it was all this short, blonde boy's fault. It was annoying and only caused Sherlock to be even more confused.

"Sherlock?" John pressed gently.

"I'm fine," Sherlock muttered, not looking at the boy, "I'm always fine."


	4. Chapter 4

"We're roommates," John said suddenly through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Sherlock looked up in shock.

"When did that happen?" he demanded.

John all of a sudden looked very nervous.

"Well, you were by yourself…" John said, looking down at his plate, "I just thought that it would be…good for me to be there…you know, to help…"

Sherlock squinted at the boy and frowned.

"Did you ever think that I like to be alone?" Sherlock said in a rather angry tone.

John looked up with wide, sorry eyes and Sherlock instantly forgave him (not that he said that out loud, mind you).

"I just want to help, Sherlock," John said timidly, "I'm sorry…I'll move back out, if you wish."

Sherlock desperately wished he could tell John that yes; he did want him to move back out. But he couldn't. He couldn't muster up one ounce of himself that was completely willing to be so harsh to the boy who saved his life. Normally, he was sure that he would tell the person to piss off, but for some stupid, unknown reason he just could not bring himself to say something like that to John. John was like a familiar stranger and Sherlock hated that he _liked _that and wanted John near him. It was grossly emotional and made Sherlock want to puke.

"It's ok," Sherlock muttered, "You can stay."

John visibly brightened and straightened up, beaming at Sherlock. Sherlock's heart thumped a little harder in his chest. He swallowed thickly and returned his attention to the small plate of food John had retrieved for him. There was yogurt, mashed potatoes and pudding. He poked the mashed potatoes with his spoon. He laid the spoon back on the plate and moved to set the plate aside, but a hand gripped his wrist tightly. He looked up in surprise to see John standing and glowering down at him. He felt himself shrink as John reached over and put the spoon back in his hand.

"Eat something," he commanded firmly.

"My arms are just so tired," Sherlock lied.

John frowned at him and turned, releasing his wrist as he did so. He hopped up onto the bed and scooted closer to Sherlock. He grabbed the spoon and scooped up some of the potatoes. Sherlock stared at him in confusion. John lifted the now full spoon to hover in front of Sherlock's mouth.

"Open," he instructed.

"But-," Sherlock was interrupted by the spoon being stuffed in his mouth.

He glared at John, but swallowed the food. John scooped up another spoonful and lifted it to Sherlock's mouth once again. Sherlock frowned and shook his head, crossing his arms like a defiant child.

"Open," John said firmly, "You have to eat."

Sherlock shook his head again. John frowned and grabbed ahold of the other boy's jaw. He pulled Sherlock's face towards his until they were centimeters apart.

"Sherlock, you need to eat," John said in a low voice, "You will get even sicker if you don't. I'm trying to help you, not torture you, ok?"

Sherlock's eyes had focused on John's lips as they said the words and now he found himself staring at the offending pink flesh with a fascination he usually associated with mysteries. His mouth popped open and another spoonful of mashed potatoes was pushed in. he continued staring as John shoveled more food into Sherlock's mouth. John's tongue flicked out and swiped across his bottom lip and Sherlock found himself leaning closer to watch the motion.

Suddenly, the lips he was staring so intently at pressed against his own. He gasped in surprise as John's still wet lips kissed gently to his. He stared in shock as John pulled off and blushed.

"S-sorry," John muttered, "Y-you w-were looking…it w-was s-so in-intense…"

"Do it again," Sherlock whispered, already leaning forward in preparation.

John looked equally as shocked as Sherlock had, but leaned forward and pressed their lips together again. He pulled off again, looking rather sheepish.

"_Sherlock?" _John's voice called.

Sherlock blinked hard several times and the world swirled around him. John's hand was on his arm and he was looking concerned. Sherlock blinked again and shook his head.

"I think I'm having hallucinations," Sherlock mumbled, "I mean, I _know_ I am."

He rubbed his face and clutched at his hair.

"I'm losing it! And I'm not even on drugs right now!" Sherlock shrieked.

The bed shifted as John sat next to him and placed his warm hands over Sherlock's. Sherlock looked up and John smiled softly at him. He tugged on Sherlock's hands and Sherlock released his hair. John nodded reassuringly and lowered Sherlock's hands to his lap. He squeezed them gently.

"I know, it's hard," John said softly, "But you can do it."

"I have never felt so emotional in my life," Sherlock said, silently cursing the weakness in his voice, "Is this what normal people deal with on a daily basis?! No wonder the suicide rate is so high…"

John squeezed his hands more tightly. Sherlock winced and looked up at John with a frown. John looked rather panicked as he stared into Sherlock's eyes.

"You don't want to kill yourself, do you?" John demanded quietly.

"No," Sherlock stated, "Don't be stupid."

John's grip on his hands loosened slightly and he looked away from Sherlock's face.

"Sorry, you freaked me out for a second," John admitted shyly.

There was a long, awkward pause while Sherlock stared at John's face and John stared at the floor. Their hands didn't disconnect, a fact that Sherlock was highly aware of. John looked back at Sherlock suddenly.

"What were you hallucinating about?" he asked, curiosity showing clearly on his face, "Was it weird? I hallucinated once, because I had a lot of pain medication. I had my appendix out."

"It was weird," Sherlock answered, "It was something that never happened to me before and I was quite shocked by it. I thought it was real."

"Oh?" John prompted.

Sherlock looked away from the curious face in embarrassment.

"You were kissing me," he admitted in a small voice, "I never engage in such activities. I have never _wanted_ to."

There was another awkward silence before John spoke up.

"Well, you did _die_, Sherlock," John pointed out, "I'm sure things are a bit different for you now."

"I didn't die," Sherlock protested, "I'm alive now."

"Your heart quit beating," John said in answer, "That technically means you died."

"Whatever," Sherlock muttered, ripping his hands from John's grasp and crossing his arms, "It is entirely irrelevant."

"Jeez, ok, no need to get your panties in a bunch," John laughed, "Just saying that things are going to be different now. Most likely anyway. On the other hand, it could just be the simple fact that your withdrawals are getting to you. Don't worry about that, though. It doesn't take too long to get through them."

Sherlock frowned at him.

"How would you know?" he snapped.

John smiled sadly at him.

"I just do," John replied.

Sherlock sighed heavily and looked away.

"Oh, you should eat some food," John said, "You'll have a worse time if you don't get something in your stomach."

"Will you feed me?" the words left Sherlock's mouth before he could stop them.

John looked at him in surprise.

"My arms are tired," Sherlock said in explanation.

John's face relaxed into a smile.

"I understand," John said, "You're probably pretty weak still."

Sherlock nodded, unsure of why his heart beat so fast and why he felt _happy_ that his excuse had worked. John scooped up some yogurt and lifted it to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock immediately opened his mouth wide for John. He shivered as the plastic spoon slid over his tongue and he thought of _other _things.

John seemed perfectly content to feed Sherlock and didn't seem to mind or find it weird at all. Meanwhile Sherlock was freaking out. He was still trying to figure out why John had such an effect on him. It was starting to really piss him off. First of all, he felt grateful. Second, he felt attraction. Third, he felt a connection to the blonde. Fourth, he fucking _felt _things! He never felt anything! And now here he was feeling…he didn't understand and he hated when he didn't understand something.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sherlock? Are you asleep?" John's voice floated over the dark space.

"N-n-n-no," Sherlock stuttered through his chattering teeth.

John's form lifted up off the other bed.

"Are you ok?" he questioned.

"C-c-c-co-o-old-d-d," Sherlock sputtered.

"Do you need my blanket?" John asked, his voice filled with concern.

"G-g-g-o-o-ot-t t-t-two-o," Sherlock managed.

"Do you want me to sleep with you?"

The question hung open in the air and Sherlock pulled the blankets tighter to his shivering body.

"Yes," he whispered honestly.

John's form moved about in the dark and Sherlock watched as John neared the bed. John bent down so they were inches apart.

"Budge up then," he said, smiling softly.

Sherlock rolled over to give room to John. John slipped in quickly and quietly.

"You want to tops to tails?" John asked, "Or…"

Sherlock rolled back over and wrapped his freezing arms around John's warm body and pressed the rest of his frigid self to the other boy. John gasped and hissed.

"Damn, you _are_ cold!" John whispered.

He wrapped his warm arms around Sherlock and rubbed his hands along the taller boy's back. Sherlock shivered and pressed his icy face into John's chest. John's leg lifted up and wrapped around his and he used this as an excuse to push his legs between John's, towards the warmest part of John's body.

"Ah! Watch that…" John whispered.

"S-sorry…" Sherlock muttered.

"You're alright," John assured him, "But jeez, I've never met someone so cold."

"Y-you're w-warm," Sherlock purred, rubbing his face against John's chest.

John chuckled slightly and pulled Sherlock closer.

"So I guess that's a no on tops to tails, huh?" he laughed.

"I d-don't kn-now wh-what that m-m-means," Sherlock mumbled.

"I means…er, you put your head by my feet," John explained, "And I put my head by your feet."

"Luh-like s-six-ixt-ty n-ni-ine?" Sherlock offered shakily.

"No!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock jumped slightly.

"Well, I guess a bit…" John amended, "Just not…sexual."

"O-oh…" Sherlock trailed off, concentrating on getting as close to the hot spot that was John Watson.

"You feeling warmer?" John asked after a long pause.

"A bit," Sherlock answered.

"You're not shaking as bad," John pointed out, "That's good. Try putting your hands under my arms; that might warm them up faster."

Sherlock shifted his arms and slipped them under John's arms.

"That's good," Sherlock said softly.

"Good," John replied, "Now, go to sleep."

"'Kay," Sherlock mumbled, already drifting off.

* * *

_Sherlock moaned obscenely. _

_ "Like that?" John whispered._

_ His mouth dipped back down, causing Sherlock to groan and writhe. Sherlock gripped John's golden locks, shrieking in pleasure. His hips lifted off the bed, thrusting into John's mouth. John pressed his hands down on Sherlock's hips, pushing him back down to the bed. Sherlock tried to moan out John's name, connect with the other boy, but all that came out was a lewd noise._

Sherlock very suddenly came back into the conscious world. He blinked heavily against the bright sunlight that streamed through the window. The first thing he noticed was breath breezing against his hair. The second thing was that it was John's breath. The third was that he really liked it and he liked that he was entwined with John.

"You 'wake, 'Lock?" John mumbled.

"Don't call me that," Sherlock muttered back.

"Wha? Oh, sorry," John said, "Jus' shorter is all."

"Whatever," Sherlock scoffed, "I don't like it."

"Ok, ok," John groaned, shifting slightly and opening his eyes, "I'll call you Sherly then."

He gave Sherlock a big, sleepy grin and Sherlock scowled at him. John just laughed and closed his eyes back, snuggling back into Sherlock as though he was going to sleep some more. That was about the time that both boys noticed their morning wood proudly prodding each other. Sherlock turned a light shade of pink and covered his face in embarrassment.

"Oh, well, that's awkward," John laughed, shifting his hips away from Sherlock.

Sherlock shifted away as well, breaking his contact with John.

"Oh jeez," John groaned, "It was probably all the contact and the warmth. Cuz I haven't had one of these in ages. In the morning anyway."

"Shut up!" Sherlock snapped, "Your incessant babbling is not helping anything!"

"Sorry, just talk when I get nervous," John said quietly.

There was a pause in which Sherlock fought with himself to not apologize.

"I'm sorry," he finally muttered, "I'm just irritable."

With that, Sherlock rolled over and climbed over John. John looked a bit miffed as Sherlock landed on the cold floor. Sherlock then proceeded to gather clothes and strut confidently into the bathroom, trying to appear as though he was not at all bothered by the erection sticking out from his body or the fact that it was caused by the dream he had about John giving him-

"Sherlock?" John called out.

Sherlock turned back around and raised his eyebrow at the blonde, who was still laid out on Sherlock's bed. Sherlock thought he looked rather inviting, causing his mouth to go dry. He swallowed thickly.

"John," he murmured.

"Can I ask what you dreamt about?" John asked, looking away hesitantly.

"Yes," Sherlock answered.

John looked expectant for a moment then he smiled slightly.

"Ok, then," John said, laying his head down on his bent elbow, "What did you dream about?"

"I was receiving fellatio," Sherlock admitted truthfully.

John looked confused.

"What's that?" John asked.

Sherlock was distracted by the way John's nose wrinkled when he was confused.

"Sherlock?" John called.

"What?" Sherlock barked impatiently.

"What is…fel-la-ti-o?" John asked, clearly pronouncing each syllable.

"Oral stimulation of the penis," Sherlock droned.

"Oh!" John said, sitting up on his knees, "You got a blowjob? Dammit. Now I'm jealous."

Sherlock frowned at him.

"Why?" he asked in confusion.

"Well, I didn't get a blowjob in my dream," John said, his voice slipping into what Sherlock now deemed his "chatter voice", "He only touched me. But there were some pretty hot kisses. Oh and a bite. That was nice. It was really, _really _nice. And it wasn't one of those weak little nips, I mean he clamped on. Mmm. Ok, so I'm a bit weird like that. Anyway, it was nice I guess, but a blowjob? Damn, you're lucky! Was he good though? Or was it clumsy and awkward? Ooh, ooh! Do I know him? or was it some random guy? Is he cute? Oh Sherlock, if he's-."

"JOHN!" Sherlock shouted, "For god's sake! Yes, it was good. No, he was not awkward. Yes, you know him. Yes, he is attractive. Jesus Christ! You need to find some way to keep a reign on your relentless need to chatter about unimportant and irrelevant things!"

There was a length pause in which John stared at Sherlock and Sherlock stared back.

"If it was unimportant, why did you answer the questions?" John inquired.

He flashed Sherlock a cocky grin. Sherlock let out a frustrated noise and stormed into the bathroom. He was really starting to get annoyed by his new _roommate. _He turned the shower as cold as he could stand it and slid in, trying to quit thinking about the annoyingly attractive and witty boy in the other room. The glacial water sucked out all his heat almost immediately. He trembled beneath the icy streams, unable to control the way the heat dissipated. He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned against the wall.

In hindsight, he probably should have turned the water to a warmer temperature, but he wasn't exactly thinking straight. As soon as the arctic water a pressed it's fingertips to his back, he'd started feeling an itchy feeling on his arms. He scratched at his shoulders without unfolding his arms. His fingernails felt impossibly dull and unable to reach the itch. He scratched harder, but the itch seemed to dig deep inside his veins.


	6. Chapter 6

"Sherlock?" called a timid voice, "Look, I'm sorry, ok? I tend to get weird sometimes. I just have this need to ramble when I get nervous. I didn't mean to ask you so many questions. I mean, you don't have to tell me a single thing. I just get really-."

Sherlock felt the itchy feeling seeping away and warmth spreading through him despite the cold water dripping all over him, but as John stopped suddenly, the feeling of itchiness returned.

"Sorry, I'm doing it again," John said quietly.

"Keep talking!" Sherlock shouted hoarsely.

"What? Uh, er, ok?" John spoke back up again, "What should I talk about? Are you ok in there? What's wrong? Er, Sherlock? I, uh, don't know what to say. Are you gonna be alright? Sh-should I c-come in?"

"No!" Sherlock yelled, "Just…keep talking."

"Ok, ok," John said, "I, uh, I don't know what to say. Do you want to hear more about my dream? It was all fuzzy. Most of my dreams are. I'm actually pretty excited, because-."

Sherlock stepped out of the shower and shakily flipped the water off. He reached for a towel and quickly wiped off the freezing water.

"-I normally have nightmares," John's voice continued to float through the door, "I had a bit of a problem…er, something happened to me. So I have nightmares about it. They're pretty bad sometimes. Usually it's worse when they're fuzzy because I can't quite make out what's going on. And it's all dark-."

Sherlock finally pulled on all his clothes, opened the door and grabbed John, pulling him into the bathroom with him.

"Sh-Sherlock!" John exclaimed, "Y-y-you're fr-freezing!"

"Warm me up," Sherlock hissed, "Keep talking!"

"Is this more withdrawals?" John questioned mostly to himself, "Ok, ok. Hey, did I tell you I wanted to be a doctor?"

His hands moved up and down Sherlock's body, trying to warm him up.

"You'd be good," Sherlock responded, "At that."

"Thanks Sherlock," John whispered, "So anyway, I've always wanted to be a doctor. Thought it would be nice to help people and save their lives. Are you feeling better?"

"Keep talking," Sherlock growled.

"Sorry," John said, "I, er, don't know what to talk about."

"How convenient," Sherlock muttered, "Talk about the boy in your dream."

"How did you know?" John asked, "I mean, how did you know it was a boy?"

"You said "he" earlier," Sherlock mumbled into John's shoulder.

"Oh, er, I…" John cleared his throat, "He's hot. Um. Dark hair. Pale. Um. I don't want to talk about this…"

"Do it anyway," Sherlock demanded.

"Um…he's sort of weird," John said, "But he's pretty smart. I mean, I don't really know how smart he is, because I haven't been around him that much. Anyway, I can just see the hidden intelligence in his eyes. But he's going through some stuff that clouds it, is all. And he doesn't understand emotions very well. From what I can tell anyway. And his name is Sherlock."

Sherlock stiffened in John's arms.

"What?" he whispered.

"I, er, really like you," John whispered into Sherlock's ear, "I think you're attractive and smart. And I was thinking of more creative ways to warm you up."

An intensely hot hand slid onto Sherlock's thigh. Sherlock gasped in surprise. But then a hand patted his face.

"Sherlock?!" John shouted, "Sherlock?!"

Sherlock blinked hazily. He looked around to find himself laying on the floor of the shower with John leaning over him. The water wasn't streaming down any more, a fact that Sherlock registered clearly for no real reason at all. John patted his face a little harder.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, "You with me?"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock groaned, "Stop hitting me."

He batted away John's hand and started to stand up. John helped him up and grabbed the towel from rack. He rubbed the towel down Sherlock quickly then wrapped it around the pale boy's waist. He then wrapped his arm around Sherlock and started towards the door. Sherlock went with him easily, suddenly noticing how cold he was. John led him to his bed and threw the covers back. He pushed Sherlock to the bed and wrapped the sheet and duvet around his thin shoulders.

"You're alright there, mate," John assured him, "I think you were in a trance or something. Were you hallucinating again?"

"Y-y-yes," Sherlock stuttered.

"Did I kiss you again?" John asked absently.

"No," Sherlock muttered, "Y-you p-put y-your ha-hand o-on m-my th-thigh."

"That's nice, I guess," John said, shrugging, "Guess I was being "forward"."

He giggled a bit and moved his hands to Sherlock's back.

"Do be careful though," John said, "It worries me that you go into trances and such."

"I d-don't k-know wh-when it's r-real and n-not," Sherlock mumbled.

"Well, how about this," John started, looking into Sherlock's eyes, "I won't be doing any of that. No kissing or touching or propositioning. So if I am, then you know it's not real."

Sherlock nodded shakily, feeling slightly disappointed and frustrated that he felt disappointed. He silently begged the question: _ever? Will you never do any of that? Will you never be the John Watson that has suddenly appeared in my dreams? _

"You feeling a bit better now?" John questioned.

"Yes," Sherlock replied stiffly.

"Good," John answered, "It's your lucky day: No classes!"

Sherlock sighed in relief and buried his face in John's chest. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

"You gonna be ok?" John asked.

"No," Sherlock mumbled.

"Ok…" John trailed off, "Well, I'm here."

"I know," Sherlock groaned, "That is part of my problem."

"Oh, er, sorry," John muttered.

His arms relaxed from around Sherlock and the taller boy was torn. He wanted to pull John closer and yet he also wanted to push him away.

"Listen, John," Sherlock said quietly, "I don't do emotions. I'm a sociopath. High-functioning. Or I was. I don't know any more, because suddenly I'm feeling grateful for you and feeling like you might not be all that bad. And I really do not like any people. I _hate_ people. They're all imbeciles. But for some stupid reason I think you may not be."

"Oh," John stated to the open air.

His arms tightened back around Sherlock and Sherlock sighed loudly with relief.

"Do you want to be a doctor?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yeah, how'd you know that?" John said in surprise.

"The hallucination you said that you wanted to be a doctor," Sherlock explained to John's shoulder, "When I asked you to keep talking, because it was warming me up and making me feel better. You also said you had nightmares because something bad happened to you. Is that also true?"

"Yes," John answered, "That's weird. Oh wait! I was talking to you in your sleep! Could that be it? Maybe it seeped in your brain somehow? I've heard about that. People knowing what was said to them while they were in a coma and stuff. I did tell you a lot about-."

"John," Sherlock interrupted, "When did you talk to me in my sleep?"

He pushed back slightly to look at John's face properly. John looked a little confused.

"When you were in the hospital," John said, "Didn't your brother tell you I was there?"

Sherlock suddenly felt extremely hot all over. Anger seared through his blood.

"No," Sherlock said through clenched teeth, "He fucking didn't. Get off me."

John jumped backwards like Sherlock was on fire. Sherlock spared John a glanced, momentarily relishing in the sight of John sitting up on his elbows, his knees spread wide. He quickly filed the image away for later and scrambled to find his phone. On ring three Mycroft answered.

"Brother," can the cold voice.

"_Brother_!" Sherlock spat, "You are by far the worst family member I have ever heard of. What kind of incompetent man stalks his little brother and relentlessly pesters him? However, when he asks for the name of his savior, he denies knowing what the boy's name is, but he in fact does know the boy. He's talked to the boy! He's probably following him around everywhere and watching his every move! Well, my dear _brother_, you can forget about all those super-secret government cases you're always dragging me into! And if you so much as look at John Watson ever again, I will personally drive a nail through your eyes, because your harsh, rude eyes are not worthy to look upon him!"

He flipped the phone shut and threw it at the wall. John jumped violently. Sherlock stepped over and stepped up onto the bed, lowering himself right next to John.

"So I'm guessing you and your brother don't get along," John stated, "You warm now?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered, "On both accounts."

"Oh, ok," John said.

There was a comfortable silence in which Sherlock found himself leaning against John's shoulder.

"Did you mean all that?" John asked the air.

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

"Oh, ok," John said again, "Thank you."

"You are welcome," Sherlock stated.

He leaned more heavily on John's shoulder and closed his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

"Sh-sherlock, are you g-going back to sleep?" John asked quietly.

"No," Sherlock answered in a low rumble.

"C-could you put on s-some c-clothes then?" John said, sounding rather embarrassed.

Sherlock peeked up at the other boy and noticed that John was blushing and pointedly not looking at Sherlock. Sherlock looked down and noticed that his towel was now barely covering him and he was essentially naked.

"Clothes are dull," Sherlock replied in a bored tone.

This only seemed to further embarrass John, as his face turned impossibly redder.

"Are you embarrassed because I am naked?" Sherlock asked curiously, lifting his head off of John's shoulder.

John's eyes flicked down at Sherlock's barely covered crotch and he coughed slightly. He turned his head back away from Sherlock.

"I c-can see your…" he muttered.

Sherlock shifted up on his knees, letting his towel fall further down. He didn't know what possessed him to do so, but suddenly he felt that itch he felt when he needed to know something. He leaned towards John and cocked his head. John turned to look at him, his face contorting slightly in what looked like pain. He looked like he was restraining himself from looking down at Sherlock's now half-exposed cock. This made Sherlock shiver. John's eyes valiantly stayed fixed on Sherlock's as Sherlock leaned a few centimeters forward.

"Why are you embarrassed?" Sherlock questioned, "What would be embarrassing about my naked body? Unless you think it's embarrassing that you _want_ to look."

Apparently, this sentence broke John's concentration as his eyes snapped down and back up again. He gasped slightly.

"No, I...I don't…" he sputtered.

"You do," Sherlock assured him, leaning closer.

John leaned backwards as Sherlock leaned forward, until Sherlock was practically on top of John.

"Sh-Sherlock," John whispered, "Wh-what are y-you doing?"

"You stutter when you're nervous," Sherlock observed, adding: "And I like it."

John looked up at him with wide eyes.

"I don't know you," Sherlock stated, "But I feel like I do. And I want to. And I care for you. Why? What is it that you possess that makes you different than other people?"

"I d-don't…I…I d-don't know," John answered.

Sherlock leaned even more forward, slamming his hands down on either side of John's head. Now he was on top of John. The other boy's legs were pinned awkwardly beneath his hips. John's eyes were impossibly wide and his body was shaking slightly. Suddenly, Sherlock felt weak. His arms collapsed out from under him, causing him to crash down onto John, who let out a loud yelp. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed and he panted against John's neck. John squirmed beneath him, clearly uncomfortable.

"Are you ok?" John gasped, "Sh-Sherlock?"

"No…" Sherlock groaned, "Not ok. Weak. Very weak."

"Withdrawals?" John suggested.

"Probably," Sherlock answered.

"Sh-Sherlock, c-can you move?" John asked frantically.

"No," Sherlock said, though he wasn't sure if that was true.

"G-god…you're so…you're so…" John mumbled, "You're so naked!"

Sherlock laughed slightly, the noise rumbling in his chest.

"You like it," Sherlock muttered.

Then there were fluttery touches against his back. He jumped slightly in surprise and the touches paused. He stilled completely, inviting the touches to continue. And they did. John's fingers hesitantly pressed lightly to Sherlock's lower back. They radiated warmth and calm, making Sherlock gasp slightly. But the touches weren't enough. He needed more. He needed something to reach inside him and banish the new confusing feeling. The new feelings in general. He needed them to be gone, so his head could be clear again. Without warning he was rolled over and John was hovering above him.

"Are you ok?" John repeated.

"No," Sherlock moaned, "I need something."

"What do you need?" John questioned.

"Drugs," Sherlock croaked.

"Sherlock, I can't-," John was interrupted by Sherlock grabbing his arms violently.

"Please, John!" Sherlock gasped, "I need them! They can stop this! They can make me calm again! Please, John, please!"

The more he begged, the more convinced he was that he really did need them. He gripped John's arms tightly.

"Please!" he screamed, "Please! I'll do anything! Please!"

John flinched slightly and tried to pull his arms away, but Sherlock pulled him down onto him. He unceremoniously crashed their lips together. John seemed frozen in shock as Sherlock hastily licked at John's lips. John stubbornly pulled his head away.

"This is what you want, right?" Sherlock said, his voice hysteric, "So, so, I can give you this! Then-then you let me get them!"

"I don't want it!" John yelled, "Not like this! Let go!"

Sherlock's hands let go before he fully grasped the command. John sat up and slid off of Sherlock. He pulled the towel back around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock lay there limply, barely registering John's moving about. He felt too hot and itchy and his eyes were trying to pour water from them. John came back within a few minutes and put his hand under Sherlock's head. He lifted him up slightly and tipped a cold glass of water to his lips. Sherlock obediently opened his mouth and allowed the cool water to slide past his tongue. John sat down heavily on the bed.

"It's ok, Sherlock," John whispered, "You're going to be ok."

"Lay with me," Sherlock whispered back.

John didn't answer. He merely set the glass on the nearest table and lay out next to Sherlock. Sherlock rolled over and pressed his leaking eyes into John's shoulder. John wrapped his arms around him, putting a hand in his hair.

"It's ok, Sherlock," he repeated, "It's ok."

Sherlock made a frustrated noise as he sobbed into John's shirt. John stroked a hand through Sherlock's hair. They didn't speak as Sherlock's sobs slowly died down. They just lay there, quietly listening to each other's breath. It seemed that they might lay there forever. _There is no good reason to get up, _Sherlock reasoned. But then John reminded him:

"You're still naked, Sherlock."

"I don't care," Sherlock said in an exasperated tone.

"Alright, alright," John relented, "Just tell me if you get cold."

"I'm cold," Sherlock said immediately, "Get closer."

John wiggled around for a moment and then pulled a blanket up over them. Sherlock was slightly disappointed that the blonde hadn't just snuggled up to him, so he took the initiative and wiggled closer to John's warm body. John didn't seem to mind too much until Sherlock threw his leg over the other boy's.

"Sherlock!" John gasped, "You're getting entirely too close!"

"Who was your dream about?" Sherlock demanded.

"What?" John said, "Is it important?"

"Yes," Sherlock said coolly, "It is very important. Who was he?"

"How did you-?" John looked shocked, "How did you know it was a boy?"

"You said "he" earlier," Sherlock pointed out (again), "You said "he only touched me" and "he clamped on". So who was he?"

"Just a guy," John said, awkwardly shifting away.

"Was it me?" Sherlock pressed.

John's eyes turned back to his and he gave him a sad look.

"Does it matter?" he said softly, "What difference will it make if it was you or someone else?"

"I guess it doesn't," Sherlock muttered.

They went silent again, not looking at each other and not moving away. Sherlock pressed his forehead into John's chest and sighed loudly.

"I'm just so confused," he admitted in a small voice.

"It's ok," John assured him, "Let's just get through withdrawals first, alright?"

"Alright," Sherlock agreed.

* * *

**Little note: Hi guys. I'm not doing so good, mentally, so my updates are going to take longer and not be as good. Hopefully I get better soon and I can go back to being a good writer for you all. Thank you for your reviews, follows and favorites. It means a lot. **


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